


Breathtaking(ly Stupid)

by Rivestra



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Breathplay, Dom/sub Undertones, Fisting, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Self-Bondage, Self-Destruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 20:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivestra/pseuds/Rivestra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony takes "self abuse" to a truly Starkian level; that's something Bruce could get pretty angry about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathtaking(ly Stupid)

**Author's Note:**

> We all know that Tony Stark would make a very poor poster boy for mental health. This fic doesn't present his healthy(er) side. It turned out quite a bit darker than I expected it to. I am not well versed in the Marvel multiverse, but I've never heard anything to make me think there's a Tony Stark out there without at least a little bit of a death wish. You have been warned.
> 
> Written for Kink Bingo Amnesty on the very last day. While I was supposed to be working. Again, please consider this a warning.
> 
> Many (so many!) thanks to sublimatedangel for the last minute beta and to varkelton prereading/last-last minute edit-induced typo patrol and for putting up with my wild mood swings while writing this.

With his face smashed into the lab table, Tony had a very narrow view. He shifted his head—or, rather, _tried_ to shift it—but Dummy’s metal fingers circling his neck kept it immobilized. Claustrophobia flared but Tony was on fairly antagonistic terms with claustrophobia and he pushed it away ruthlessly, turning his focus instead to Dummy’s marginally smarter twin as it dipped again into view, rubbing first left then right sides into the vat of industrial lubricant before drawing back out of view.

Tony allowed himself a shudder before making a deliberate effort to relax, spreading his legs further apart and letting the line of his torso settle into the table. The heat of his bare skin contrasted sharply with the cool surface beneath him.

He did not brace himself. Not even when he felt the slick-coated metal begin to press into him.

Tony Stark was a programming _god_ , and gods did not doubt. (Tony’s sample size here was small, but, he felt, definitive: Thor never seemed to.)

Cool and absolutely intractable, the fingers worked their way into him, their pressure building and building as they slid deeper. Dummy’s grip was a constant at his neck and Tony focused on it, the hand's electricity pulsing just beneath the alloy. Tony imagined— _felt_ —the harmonics surging down, through the arc reactor at his core and onward until they aligned with those in its twin, building with the pressure, singing higher and deeper until Tony himself was nothing but that _thrum_ , irrelevant but for the constant pulse of push and pull of the metal that pistoned into him, relentless and demanding and absolutely, utterly inexorable. 

He rode it as long as he could—the vast wave chasing away his thoughts, forcing intellect and coherence back—away— leaving nothing, no arousal, no _self,_ just raw sensation. One genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist reduced to flaccid flesh and nerve and nothing else… until even that wasn’t enough nothing. Unbidden, un _welcome,_ Tony could feel himself creeping back in, could feel his mind coming back online and he couldn’t push it away by himself, not even this overloaded. He didn’t know how long it had been—couldn’t even guess at _time_ —but he wasn’t ready to come back yet. It hadn’t been _enough_ and that… was okay. This time, that was fine, because that’s what programming was for.

With a force of pure will, Tony let the Hammer Industries stress ball he’d been crushing in his left hand fall to the floor. 

Heavy and skin-warmed against Tony's neck, Dummy began to squeeze. Tony stretched, giving better access, permission, but Dummy didn’t seem to notice. The bright red stress ball rolled through his field of vision and disappeared under a Ferrari. The hand in his ass twisted and flexed, out and back, in and _through_. Tony focused on the pressure circling his neck, firm and even, and on the fire building behind his eyes. Jarvis’ protests were dim, blurred like they were out of focus and that was okay, too, Tony had disconnected the arms from the network; he'd burned out their wireless and isolated them completely. It had seemed not only practical but appropriate. 

The urge to fight for breath rose and Tony tried to will it away, off into exile with his claustrophobia, but it wasn’t so easily banished, so much more wild and primal than its better-mannered sister. As the spots started to cloud his vision, Tony gave into it, thrashing on the table and sending a pile of micrometers he hadn’t moved far enough away crashing to the floor, their clatter further masking Jarvis’ alarm. He twisted and fought against the steel pinning him at neck and ass, his thrashing utterly useless and impossible. 

It felt good.

Safe.

The moment Tony felt that thought flare through him, the struggle abandoned him. Boneless, Tony sank into the table and floated, entirely in the moment. Entirely in his skin and not his head. 

Quiet, for once, grounded and whole.

Then his peace was ripped to shreds in a storm of growling green, flying sparks and screaming metal. His own blood rushed him, a live wire shoved straight in to his brain, screaming dissonance with the reactor. Tony passed out as Dummy’s dismembered hand shattered the glass of the far wall.

~*~*~*~

When he came to, Tony ached all over. He settled into it, acknowledging each throbbing strain and fiery pull as due and welcome. Home. Idily, he wondered what the other guy looked like, but everything was good and solid, and he didn’t really care. He drifted on the pain, and felt tethered and real.

Alive. 

Eventually, Tony noticed that the glass under his hip was unusually sharp and that his head rested on something unusually soft, so he expanded his awareness just a little bit. He didn’t usually wake up from fights naked, but that wasn’t half so unusual as waking with his head in someone’s lap. He hadn’t meant to stir but…

“Hey,” Bruce’s voice interrupted. “So I’ve been sitting here—for a while, I might add—trying to figure out if you intended for that to stop at some point.”

Fire blossomed through Tony’s throat when he tried to use it. Memory blossomed too.

 _Oh, right._ There was no other guy.

Bruce held up Dummy’s bashed in head. Hand. Whatever.

“See, I haven’t managed to go through all the programming yet, but I keep coming back to the fact that you…” Bruce’s gaze moved to Tony’s face, his head shaking slowly. “That the _best_ case here involves you trusting your life to the judgment of something you call _Dummy._

 __“What the ** _hell_** were you thinking, Tony?”

Tony waited for his indignation to rise, for the sarcasm to come racing out, but all that emerged was a croaked, “Calm down, big guy.”

“Calm down? _Calm down?!?_ I find you almost dead, locked carefully away from all your safeguards, and _that’s_ what you have to say for yourself: Calm down?” 

Bruce pulled in a deep breath and carefully, oh-so-deliberately, moved his hand to Tony’s ruined throat. “Moron.”

Tony twitched minutely under Bruce’s hand as its weight pressed against the bruises. His cock stirred against his leg. 

_Interesting._

“You’re an idiot, Stark. If you didn’t want to die, you were doing more things wrong than I can even count… you weren’t even getting off on it.” Tony felt Bruce look down the line him, eyes like a physical weight. Bruce’s hand tightened on his neck when that sharp gaze reached Tony’s cock, Tony sucked in a sharp breath and felt it swell from half to fully hard with the pressure. Surprised, he might have managed sarcasm then, if he’d had the air for it. 

The gleam in Bruce's eyes should have been a warning, as should his soft tone, near-whispered right into Tony's ear. “Though that doesn’t seem to be a problem now…” Tony just wasn't that smart when all his blood was pooling in his dick.

Sharp and sudden, Bruce flipped Tony beneath him, one hand never leaving Tony’s throat and the other catching Tony’s cock in a tight hold. Bruce squeezed both hands and Tony’s vision swam even as his cock got harder. He started to sink into Bruce’s grip, reveling in the impossible _heat_ of it.

Growling “No,” Bruce shifted Tony's head grip so Tony had to look at him. “You don’t get to check out,” he said inexplicably and jacked Tony hard. 

Pleasure spiked through him, spiced with a healthy dose of fear at Bruce's anger. Tony couldn’t catch his breath around the pressure but managed to keep his focus on Bruce, mesmerized as a dual war for control played out across Bruce's features. Bruce's body radiated tension and it grounded Tony and blew sparks all through him at the same time. Bruce didn't even seem to notice he was drilling a hole in Tony's thigh, just worked him mercilessly, hand tight enough to make every gulp of air so, so sweet and Tony soared on it all, higher than he'd ever managed in the suit. 

Bruce's mouth was moving; Tony, transfixed by the motion, only belatedly heard him say,

"You want this, you’re damn well going to stick around for it...” 

…and came apart in Bruce’s hands.

~*~*~*~

Later—though not much later, and _well_ before he was ready to move—Tony felt himself being hauled up. 

Weak-kneed and spacey, he idly surveyed the damage as Bruce hauled him though the lab. When they stopped at a working terminal, Tony was surprised Bruce had been able to find one. 

Quietly, Bruce demanded, “Let Jarvis back in,” again right into Tony's ear. Tony's cock twitched as he was manhandled in front of the interface. 

It didn’t even occur to Tony not to obey.

Silence was Jarvis’ only greeting until Bruce broke it. “Did it work?”

“I am back, Dr. Banner,” came Jarvis’ cool tones.

 _How exactly could an AI without any visible eyes glare?_ Tony rubbed his forehead and ducked his face from Jarvis’ cameras. Bruce’s hand came up to the back of his neck and Tony’s fidgeting cut off like a circuit.

“Thank you for your assistance last night,” Jarvis continued, clearly talking to Bruce and not _him._

“Not a problem. Please don’t ever hesitate to call me…. As a matter of fact…” Bruce leaned deeper into Tony, “Tony’s going to make that simpler, aren’t you, Tony?”

Bewildered, Tony's head cocked at Bruce, shifting under his hand to get a look at his face. Mind-numbing— _literally_ —sex must actually kill brain cells (though even with this positive a correlation, a study could be _fun)_ , because he didn’t have a clue.

“Jarvis,” Bruce went on, ignoring Tony completely but keeping that warm, steadying grip at Tony's neck, “Tony would like to give me full access to the lab. He'd also like to discontinue the controls that hamstring your ability to tattle on him to me…”

“I wou....” Tony’s voice broke on the word. He couldn’t get air to try again around Bruce’s hand (which had shifted around to the front of his neck, and that alone would have made Tony stutter, even with enough air). 

Bruce locked eyes with Tony and relaxed his grip. “”Yes, you would.” 

Tony couldn’t look away. He nodded, slow and deliberate.

Jarvis' smooth voice was jarring. “I fear I will require approval with a decreased chance of coercion for this command, Dr. Banner.” He sounded disappointed. Very disappointed. Why had he programmed a personality…

“Of course.”

Coolness washed over him where Bruce’s heat had been, and Tony swayed. He actually had to grab at the table to steady himself. Bruce was three feet away, off to his left, Tony clocked without looking.

There was concern in Jarvis’ “Sir?” and Tony tried to count the victory of Jarvis breaking his silent treatment.

“I…” He cleared his throat firmly then ruined it by sputtering with coughs. He felt more like himself under the disapproving glares that greeted him when he’d finished. “I’m fine.”He looked toward Bruce. “Really.” Tony squared his shoulders and watched Bruce watch him.

Bruce glared back at him, but his lips twitched. 

Tony closed his eyes; he felt like he was falling. 

“Give the man what he wants, Jarvis.” 

**~fin~**


End file.
